


The Alchemist Meets The Thalmor

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Ryndoril met Ondolemar in Markarth, followed up with a little favor for Ondolemar. No sex, just a bit of backstory on this pairing!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Alchemist Meets The Thalmor

Ryndoril crept quietly through Understone Keep, doing his best not to draw attention to himself. It was very late, and realistically he supposed he shouldn’t be there – but he needed an alchemy lab, and he preferred one without the old hag Bothela hanging around and looking suspiciously over his shoulder. He was never able to get to the lab in the Keep during the day because of the snotty court wizard, Calcelmo, and his bratty nephew – so this was the solution he’d come up with.

Grinning to himself when he found the room entirely empty, he settled his apothecary’s satchel on a nearby chair, digging through it, utterly content.

This was one thing he definitely loved doing; mixing potions and poisons, learning how the delicate ingredients worked together…it was highly fascinating, and it was nice to do such a menial task once in a while.

He liked being an adventurer, too; he liked helping people, and liked the generous coin that tended to come with it. Going through the various dungeons and ruins of Skyrim gave him a thrill he’d never had in his life.

Finding the ingredient he was looking for, a red mountain flower, he smiled. This was one ingredient that had eluded him for a bit, and he was quite curious to know what it did. Fortunately, he had managed to pick up over a dozen when he finally found them.

The best way to find out what an ingredient did, he knew, was to simply eat it. Some things he had skipped this step altogether with…nothing whatsoever was going to possess him to eat a giant’s _toe_. The little red flower looked harmless enough, though, so he popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Barely a second later, he collapsed to his knees with a grunt, clutching his stomach. It seemed the harmless little flower was quite poisonous.

Cursing himself for making such an ignorant assumption, he fumbled in his pack, praying he still had a potion to cure poison; he wasn’t sure he could think straight enough at the moment to make one. Finding what he sought, he gratefully gulped it down, wishing his stomach would stop heaving already.

“Did you just eat…poison?” a skeptical, haughty voice asked, making Ryndoril wrench his eyes open to look around. Standing nearby and looking completely bewildered was the Thalmor Commander stationed in the Keep. 

He was a handsome elf, to be sure, Ryndoril thought; so much of him was covered in that ridiculous hood that it was hard to be sure, but there was a certain quality about him nonetheless. Ryndoril had seen him around the Keep before, but never paid him any mind; the Thalmor ignored him, so he returned the favor.

“Looks like it, yeah,” Ryndoril said, a sheepish grin spreading over his face as he got to his feet. “And for such an innocent little flower, too.” The Thalmor agent simply stared at him. “Ryndoril,” the Bosmer added politely, holding out a hand. The Thalmor still didn’t seem to know quite what to make of him.

“Ondolemar,” the high elf replied, taking Ryndoril’s hand and shaking it with his own gloved one. Ryndoril found the feel of the soft leather over warm fingers quite pleasant and was loathe to let go. “You eat ingredients when you don’t know what they do?”

“Most popular way to test them, yeah,” Ryndoril nodded. “Didn’t expect that one to be so potent, really.”

“That’s madness,” Ondolemar commented, still baffled. “Aren’t you worried you’ll kill yourself?”

“Very little in this world works fast enough to prevent the use of an antidote,” Ryndoril grinned. “Though, it was a little stupid not to have one at the ready, I admit.”

“Right,” Ondolemar said, giving Ryndoril a last strange look before shaking himself. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Well, I’m an alchemist,” Ryndoril said, frowning. “I realize it’s after hours, but I needed the lab…”

“And you consider yourself above working in daylight hours?” Ondolemar asked, his eyebrow raising and the haughty tone returning more fully to his voice.

“Not entirely,” Ryndoril smirked. “Just…prefer it when that court wizard isn’t hanging around.” He caught a bit of a smile from beneath Ondolemar’s hood. “Here to kick me out? I can go.”

“No, that’s…all right,” Ondolemar said. “I care little for who uses the Keep or when, so long as they do not disturb me.”

“What were you doing here, then?” Rydoril asked curiously. Ondolemar considered him for a moment before holding up a small, silver ring, a flashy stone set in the band.

“The Ambassador wanted this enchanted,” Ondolemar answered, giving the little ring a sneer that was entirely too hateful for a little bit of jewelry. “And…I, too, prefer to avoid the court mage’s company.” Ryndoril chuckled.

“Fair enough. I’ll do my work, you do yours…and no one needs to bother Calcelmo,” Ryndoril suggested. There was a slightly uncomfortable pause where Ondolemar continued to stare at him. “What?” he finally asked.

“Who _are_ you?” Ondolemar inquired, clearly puzzled. Ryndoril’s eyes widened skeptically.

“Uh…Ryndoril,” he introduced himself again. “Wood elf, traveler, Thane to a few holds, alchemist. No one special.” Ondolemar seemed to be desperately trying to place him, but as far as Ryndoril was aware, they’d never actually met before.

“All right,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head and suddenly impatient. “Fine. I’ve work to do, so if you’d be so kind.” He turned his back on Ryndoril then, the Bosmer slightly surprised by his sudden icy change in behavior, and walked toward the enchanting table.

Shrugging, feeling a bit confused, Ryndoril grabbed his pack again, searching through it for his journal. He opened to the last used page, scribbling beneath the last entry, ‘ _red mountain flower – poison_ ’, then left it open on the table, reaching for his satchel.

He had no other ingredients he needed to test by ingestion, so he set to work mixing the different ingredients and noting their reactions. Ondolemar worked quietly several feet away at the enchanting table, and Ryndoril found it oddly peaceful to have a working companion to share the time with.

“Oh, gods,” he choked sometime later, waving away a black smoke emitting from the alchemy lab. He coughed a few times at the horrid smell – clearly, one should not mix canis root with a blue dartwing.

“I thought you said you were an alchemist,” Ondolemar spoke up, eyeing the black smoke warily and taking a few steps away from the alchemy lab. Ryndoril gave him a rueful grin as he tried to breathe normally again.

“I am,” he said, his voice a little raspy. “Doesn’t mean I’ve learned everything yet. Half the fun is discovering what works.”

“Or what doesn’t?” Ondolemar said, a slight smirk quirking his lips.

“Or what doesn’t,” Ryndoril agreed with a short laugh. “Sorry.”

“I’m nearly done anyway,” Ondolemar admitted, stepping back toward the enchanting table. While waiting for the smoke to clear from his failed potion, Ryndoril stood and watched with fascination as Ondolemar finished enchanting the small ring. It was somehow lovely to watch, Ondolemar waving his hands around the table, adjusting _this_ tile and _that_ rune. His fingers nearly danced as he extinguished and relit the candle flames in particular orders.

Finally he finished, dousing each of the candles and picking up the ring, which Ryndoril now saw was glowing a soft yellow color. He realized Ondolemar had caught him staring, and flushed a little.

“Yes?” Ondolemar asked, arching an eyebrow and staring back at the little wood elf, clearly annoyed.

“I – sorry,” Ryndoril replied. “I just…that was fascinating.” Ondolemar looked a bit smug at that.

“Well, I am very good at what I do,” Ondolemar said, raising his head a bit. “Perhaps if you practice, you could come close my skill. One day.” He sounded as though he doubted it.

“I don’t know the first thing about enchanting,” Ryndoril admitted. “I’m not that good with magic or anything.” Ondolemar’s eyebrow shot up.

“But you’re an elf,” he said, clearly surprised.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril laughed. “But I was cursed with this handsome face in place of magical ability.” He was gratified to see Ondolemar’s cheeks redden beneath his hood.

“You know no magic whatsoever?” Ondolemar asked, choosing to ignore him.

“A bit,” Ryndoril said. He conjured a ball of flame into his hand and held it there. “That’s about the best of it, though.” Ondolemar stared at him once more, clearly thinking him mad. “Anyway, uh…I’ll just get back to work. Sorry for bothering you with the mistake of a potion.”

“Apology accepted,” Ondolemar said, his icy sneer firmly back in place. He pocketed the ring. “Are you leaving town soon?” Ryndoril grinned.

“Going to miss me already?” the Bosmer teased. Ondolemar’s sneer became more pronounced. 

“No,” Ondolemar replied in a dignified voice. “I simply have a task I need done, and as a mercenary, you would be well-suited to carry it out.” Ryndoril raised an eyebrow at the other mer.

“All right,” he said slowly. “What is it you want me to do?”

“You know, I presume, that the reason for Thalmor presence here in Skyrim is to root out Talos worship?” Ondolemar inquired. Ryndoril nodded; he thought it a silly thing to be so bothered over, but knew the Thalmor were right about the heretics – no man could become a god. “The bard down at the Silver-Blood Inn, Ogmund – I have it on good authority he secretly worships Talos.” Ryndoril snorted, and Ondolemar shot him a withering look. “What?”

“A lot of the Nords do,” Ryndoril said, shrugging. “You really surprised by that?”

“Regardless,” Ondolemar went on, annoyed, “the Jarl has been hesitant to call for his arrest. If I could present solid proof, there would be no more question.” Ryndoril frowned in confusion.

“What is it you want me to do, exactly?” Ryndoril asked. “Hang around until I hear him say ‘Talos’?”

“Of course not,” Ondolemar said impatiently. “I want you to break into his house and find me evidence of his heretical behavior. I will take care of the rest, if you simply bring me some shred of proof.”

It was simple enough, and divines knew Ryndoril was no stranger to breaking into homes. However…

“What’s in it for me?” Ryndoril asked, crossing his arms. “I don’t work for free.”

“Obviously,” Ondolemar said, rolling his eyes. “Bring me my evidence, and I will reward you with coin. Fair enough?” Ryndoril grinned.

“Now that, I can do,” Ryndoril nodded. “I’ll get it to you before I leave town.”

“See that you do,” Ondolemar said stiffly. With that, he turned around and walked away, down through the rocky hall, leaving Ryndoril to his potions.

Ondolemar was rather annoyed with himself; he’d felt an odd sort of _comfort_ around the other elf. True, he seemed quite charming, and was at the very least much less rude to him than Ondolemar normally experienced between the Nord residents of the city, the Jarl, and his court.

But the mer was a bumbling _fool_ , obviously; trying potion ingredients in the middle of the night by himself without knowing what they would do, and then crafting a potion that nearly killed them both with the fumes.

He was cheerful, though, and Ondolemar caught himself smiling a little as he thought of the face-splitting grin that liked to adorn the Bosmer’s face. Foolish though the mer may be, Ondolemar couldn’t stop thinking about him – and part of him even wanted to turn back, just for the company.

He really had been stuck here in this cold, unforgiving place far too long, he thought with a sigh as he climbed toward his rooms. To crave the attention of another person… Though, he admitted, at least he was a Bosmer. They were a decent enough sort, really. He could certainly have chosen worse company.

When Ondolemar drifted off to sleep that night, it was with the thought of red hair, dark brown eyes, and a laughing, smiling face.

*****

Ondolemar paced restlessly back and forth along the hall of the Keep, as he usually did during the day when he wasn’t needed…except this time, something much more than annoyance at the Jarl was bothering him.

That Divines-damned Bosmer had implanted himself firmly in Ondolemar’s mind, and then scurried off completely!

Ondolemar had waited – _not_ hopefully, he would _never_ say hopefully – all day long the previous day, waiting to see that red-haired elf coming up the steps with the evidence he’d asked for. And the annoying little mer had never shown up! 

At least, Ondolemar thought furiously, he could have had the decency to simply decline the request if he wasn’t going to do it. He didn’t have to seem so damned eager for the job if he was going to just skip it. Why did everyone in this infernal city have to annoy him?

And more importantly, why couldn’t he stop thinking about that absolutely _infuriating_ grin?

Ondolemar snarled out loud at his thoughts as he turned on his heel to make another annoyed pass across the Keep. He’d noticed his guards giving him strange looks, but luckily they knew better than to question him.

As soon as he turned again at the other end of the hall, he found himself smacking into someone, nearly knocking them to the ground. Instinctively he reached out to grab the person’s shoulders and recognized the red hair and scruffy face. _And that grin._

“Sorry,” Ryndoril apologized, steadying himself against the Altmer’s grip before moving away. “Didn’t know you were going to turn around so fast.”

“You,” Ondolemar sneered. “What are you doing here, elf? And whatever possessed you to walk so _close_ to me?”

“I have what you wanted,” Ryndoril said, his grin fading. “I was coming to give it to you, and then I realized I was right behind you – you really blend into the dark with those black robes, you know?” Ondolemar raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the Bosmer’s babbling.

But damn if he didn’t want to say something, anything, to bring that grin back.

“Well?” he said instead, crossing his arms and looking imperiously down at the little elf. He really was so very small… “What did you find?”

“This,” Ryndoril said, holding out an amulet of Talos to the Thalmor. “Right in his bedside table.”

“Which is wonderful,” Ondolemar said coldly, “except that you could have picked that up anywhere.”

“Probably,” Ryndoril nodded. “But wherever I picked it up…I believe this is enough to implicate him?” He turned the amulet and Ondolemar saw a small scribble along the side of it; _To Ogmund_.

“Fine,” Ondolemar said, snatching the amulet away from him. “I suppose this will do, then. Though for something so exceedingly simple, I fail to see why it had to take so long to finish the job.”

“A good thief never gets caught,” Ryndoril replied, a slight frown still on his face. “You have to do things a certain way if you want them done right.” Ondolemar just managed not to smile at that; it was a sentiment he himself often expressed. In any case, it was nearly impossible to remain cross with the elf, annoyingly cheerful as he was.

“Right, then. Well, I would like to personally thank you on behalf of myself and the Thalmor for your assistance,” Ondolemar recited mechanically, a line he’d been using over and over to placate the Nords of the city when they had assisted him. He held out a coin purse to the Bosmer, who glanced at it before eyeing Ondolemar shrewdly. 

“You know, a sincere ‘thanks’ wouldn’t go amiss,” Ryndoril said.

“But I just – “ Ondolemar protested.

“That wasn’t sincere,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “You said that because you think you have to. But…you’re welcome,” he sighed, reaching for the coin. “I’ll be on my way.” Ondolemar stood there, perplexed by the other elf, watching him walk away.

“Thanks,” he murmured as the Bosmer descended the stairs of the Keep.

He realized he hadn’t ever gotten the grin back this time.


End file.
